Eyeliner and Other Social Projectiles
by Horribibble
Summary: Professor Bunansa has a minor social problem. Student Vaan has a major painted-into-his-female-best-friend's-jeans problem. With a little eyeliner and some positive reinforcement, they may just make an evening of it. BalxVaan. University AU.


**Title**: Eyeliner and Other Social Projectiles

**Rating**: M

**Pairing**: Balthier / Vaan

**Summary**: Professor Bunansa has a minor social problem. Student Vaan has a major painted-into-his-female-best-friend's-jeans problem. With a little eyeliner and some positive reinforcement, they may just make an evening of it. BalxVaan.

**Disclaimer**: I don't own or profit from this franchise. I just write wacky slash stories about its poor inhabitants.

x

* * *

x

"Don't be such a damn pansy, Vaan, it's just _eyeliner_."

"That's right, Pen. Eye_liner_. It's supposed to go _around _the eye, not directly into the fucking pupil. Just…_ow_."

The world around the dusky-skinned youth seemed either to be operating on a blurred filter, or someone had dumped the shared apartment into a gigantic fish bowl.

He hadn't missed the cue to hiss in and hold his breath when Penelo had inserted the applicator straight into a big gray eye.

The other blonde was quick to swat him, the wand's plastic hilt balanced like an old-time cigarette holder between a slim middle and index finger. It was almost like watching the girl play dress up as an odd, beloved 'grand dame' aunt, except women like that usually didn't smack people upside the head after stabbing them in the eye.

"Would you stop _whining_? You said you wanted to look good, right?"

"Yeah—good as in 'club-ready', not 'tight jeans, Daisy Dukes makes a man go—'" He finished with the appropriate whistle, and jerked away before Penelo could hit him again, but she just planted her hands on her hips and tapped her foot.

_Rapapapa._

Now she looked more like a young, chain-smoking mother with an excessively difficult 'growing boy' on her hands, in her hair, and aggravating the police.

This one, Vaan was more familiar with.

Penelo's mother had taught it to her by years of thorough example. Eventually, the cigarette had disappeared.

Aelme had claimed that Vaan shaved too many years off of her life as it was, so why let toxins and tar take the rest.

She'd sent both of them off to college with a tired, "Just no babies, okay? _Both of you_."

He waited patiently for Penelo to turn him into a sniveling, juvenile mess with something pithy and appropriate.

Instead, he got a little crinkle at the edges of her eyes, and a knowingly arched brow.

"I'm sorry to be the one to have to break this to you, honey. But with an ass like _that_," She waved her little wand (which had, miraculously, not yet dripped on the carpet) in the general direction of his seated backside, "Daisy Dukes and wolf whistles are the default setting. In fact, that's _low_."

"I don't need to hear this."

"Them's the breaks, Vaan. Yours is the butt of a baby-maker."

"Wonder where the rest of it went."

"I'm pretty sure they delivered it to my mom, for me. Because as much as I'd like to keep thinking that I'm a late-bloomer, only a butt like that could make up for the slow going in the front."

This time, there was a blurry two-handed wave sweeping from her shoulders to just under her modest bust.

"Aw, Pen," Vaan cooed playfully, "_**I **_like your boobs."

She snorted, and made a show of brushing her still-damp hair back over a shoulder. "Good. Then shut up and stare at them while I finish your eyes, or I'm telling everyone you felt like dressing up as a raccoon."

A quick, threatening harpoon-heft of the liner wand, and Vaan was still again.

x

* * *

x

Balthier had always been a fairly classy bloke.

He drank expensive alcohol, paid minute detail to his grooming, and used long, hard-to-decipher words to insult his usual dull-eyed hoard of credit-mongering alcoholic infants.

To begin with, it had been gratifying to lord his knowledge over the unmotivated and unsuspecting masses, but after a while, the sheen had worn off.

Fran insisted that he should stick to his commitments—indeed, the woman had made a _challenge_ of it—and now he was _trapped_.

Trapped in the only nearby nightlife attraction in the area with hooting frat boys and part-time virgins still learning how to be slinky in their skin. He was tempted to tear out his hair and _scream_, but instead he made a dexterous motion for a top-up and waited for the bartender to pick his way over.

"Again, my thanks, Tomas."

"It's Tomaj."

"Whatever."

The slim brunette, long having given up on the straight-backed European, merely grit his teeth, rolled his eyes, and turned away on his heel.

A low chuckle nearing from behind did enough to punish the man determined to wallow in his upright ennui.

"You really should take the time to remember his name, Bunansa. One of these days he's going to poison your drink."

"Ronsenburg," The man drawled in response, "Pardon me if I'm not quaking in my Armanis at the mere _thought_ of Tonto—"

"_Tomaj_."

"Slipping me a mickey."

"Not a mickey. Real poison. He was thinking about drugging you before, but he thought you'd probably enjoy it too much."

Balthier wrinkled his nose in disgust, "_Charming_."

"It's really not that hard, once you apply yourself."

"Or I could just float about calling everyone '_Friend_'." He shot an accusing glare at the shaggy blonde on the stool beside him, but Basch just shrugged his shoulders.

"People _like _me, Balthier."

"Oh, that's just what I need. A few fans in the fraternity houses. One of these nights, I'll pop in at a toga party and they can teach me how to do a keg flip. Oh, how my life will be enriched."

"Sometimes I think you would crumble to dust if you had a moment of fuu-uuhhn?"

Balthier mustered up enough disregard to level the man with a patronizing look, but stopped when he saw a bewildered stare fizzling into confused disbelief and, finally, a deep laugh and a shake of the head.

Something at the entry way had caught Basch's eye.

Balthier didn't have the 'give-a-shit' left to look, except it seemed whatever lunacy had followed his colleague here seemed to be coming closer.

The brunette sent up a quick, witty prayer that if he had any favors left, and if whoever was listening had a single decent bone in their body, the professor's buddy would not be a boozed-up Greek.

He wasn't in the mood to be treated like a set of monkey bars or to stuff a coed back into her bra.

"Vaan," The burly man said, "Penelo. I wasn't expecting to see the two of you here. Aren't you flying home for the break?"

"The later flight was cheaper," Came a surprisingly tolerable feminine tone, "Besides, mom wouldn't believe we were real college students unless we came back hung over."

The quip had earned another chuckle from Basch, who then turned his attention. "Vaan, you look…nice…tonight."

The end lifted up like a question, and Balthier wondered, briefly, if he were feeling generous enough to provide his services as a wing-man. He could almost feel the man flushing in his seat.

A nervous chuckle from a light, pleasant accent that reminded Balthier very distantly of Fran's came in answer, and he realized that said assistance might be surprisingly unnecessary.

He was curious enough to turn, if slightly, to eye their new company. …Huh. Not bad. It seemed the other man had gathered a small harem of nubile young blondes while Balthier hadn't been looking.

"Yeah," The boy scratched lightly at the junction of neck and collar, slightly self-conscious, but too vibrant and naturally confident to glance down in humility, "They're Penelo's. She said my ass was too picturesque not to be in a frame."

Basch laughed louder this time, leaning an elbow back on the bar for support, "I should scold you, I know, but I doubt it would make a moment's difference."

The youth's arm dropped, the thumb hooking into a painted-on pocket, and Balthier realized with some small horror that he was taking an _interest_ in this effortless little rake.

Before he could catch himself, he was delicately clearing his throat.

"Ah, my apologies; Vaan, Penelo, this is—"

"Professor Bonanza!"

Something inside of Balthier's mind snapped, like an overtaxed bow-string. He could almost feel the phantom sting against his carefully-tended ego.

His eyes narrowed at the pretty male, preparing a properly acerbic comment.

The humor of this bit of karmic revenge was not lost on Ronsenburg, but he had the good sense to cut Balthier off at the pass, "It's Bunansa, Vaan, not Bonanza."

Vaan shook his head, his former surprise giving way to easy humor, "Ah, I know. Sorry. I'm just used to hearing him called 'Bonanza'. I know a couple of his students."

Balthier arched a dignified brow, "Oh? Would that be _biblically_?"

The boy didn't seem the least bit intimidated, which was even more annoying. Couldn't he be properly abashed?

"If you count ultimate Frisbee as sexual contact, sure. I hear you're the expert."

!

All right, that had stung a bit.

Balthier hadn't expected that from the smaller man, and the muffled snickering coming from the other two wasn't leaving him with such a warm and fuzzy impression.

He wasn't _that _big of a man whore—especially around _here_—it was just in his nature to flirt. He couldn't deny his own natural charms and…_advantages_.

"Brilliant." He said, "You're quite the social butterfly, aren't you? So very well-apprised of my colorful character. 'Professor Bonanza', indeed. If they can't handle the course-load, they ought to drop when they've got the chance."

"Those are the ones that like you. The bitter ones call you 'Satan'."

Oh.

Balthier must have started glaring, because Penelo was touching her friend's arm.

"And where would that leave _you_, Mister…?"

"Vaan Ronsenburg. Nice to meet ya." He grinned, and Balthier felt like someone had tossed him flat onto his back.

He blinked, dumbstruck, at the colleague seated beside him.

"Oh, dear." Penelo intoned blankly, "Basch, I seem to feel faint. I think that perhaps I need an adult."

"Huh? Pen?"

Basch snorted, rising quickly and offering an arm to the petite young lady before clapping a hand on Vaan's shoulder.

"I believe that this is the part where you 'lay them on the table and measure'."

The two of them high-tailed it before either Vaan or Balthier could say anything to the contrary. Both watched them go before glancing awkwardly back at one another.

"So, uh…I guess I put my foot in mouth, huh?"

With lips like that, Balthier didn't have much difficulty imagining plenty of things fitting snugly in that hot little opening.

And it _unnerved_ him.

"Mm," He grunted, "You're…related to Basch?"

Curious eyes followed the boy as he reclaimed his older friend's seat, tightly-sheathed bottom gracing the cheap fabric beneath it.

"Would it make you feel better if I said I was adopted?"

"…"

"My brother and I lost our parents when I was pretty young, so Basch helped Reks take care of me."

"'Reks'…I've heard that name before."

This topic lowered the boy's eyes, and it was strangely quieting.

"I guess you would have. You're Basch's friend, right?"

There were any number of things that Balthier might have said just then, but something about the trusting way that the boy said 'friend' leant it more meaning than he was comfortable joking about.

"Mm," He hummed instead, "One might say. Enough of one to buy you a drink."

It was as much of an apology as the boy could expect to receive, and it didn't escape his notice.

Vaan smiled a little, making damp eye contact before glancing at the bar in front of the older brunette, "Make it two. I need to catch up."

"Very well, then. …_Tomaj_?"

x

* * *

x

If Balthier took a moment to contemplate cosmic rewards, he might consider that little effort to dignify the bartender with a little recognition as the gateway to a bit of reciprocal pleasure.

Namely, the rather diverting opportunity to experience just what the winsome blonde could accommodate in that full, pouting smile.

The answer, on one of his art association tests, might have looked something like:

_Heaven -_ May 3, 2012, Vaan Ronsenburg's mouth.

x

* * *

x

"_Nnnnm_…"

Balthier woke up to a slight headache and a warm, soft form stretched across his own. The faint drag of an heirloom pendant drew a feathery-pleasant trail across half of his chest and a playful, drowsy nuzzling urged his chin up to accommodate early-morning kissing and cuddling.

The affection came in a short burst of effort before dying down into comfortable pressure.

This, Balthier could live with.

But then the boy moved down, resting his rounded chin against the teacher's pectoral muscle and glancing coyly up at him, gray on gray.

The smile was slow and easy, infiltrating the morning haze like syrup and hours left to sleep in. Vaan's lips were swollen and flush, a change in color that Balthier was pleased to find could extend much farther down the youth's form.

"Morning." He rasped.

"A good one, hm?"

"Not sure yet," He wrinkled his nose, but the little shimmer in his eye betrayed his humor, "You'll have to help me a little on the interpretation."

"I shall endeavor to do my best." Balthier offered a rakish smirk. He was perverting the hell out of the honor code, and they both knew it.

"_Mmmmmmhm_." Vaan leaned up again briefly to press a quick kiss to the brunette's shoulder. The muzzy slowness of his morning attitude dissolved as he managed his own mischievous smile. "I think I missed my flight."

"You couldn't possibly—"

Vaan held up his cell phone, illuminating a photo of a bright, exotic-looking beach with beautiful stone buildings off to one side and a glimmering waterfront—almost like shifting sands in the glare—on the other.

Underneath, there sat the caption: _Greetings from sunny Rabanastre._ –Penelo

Balthier blinked at the screen for a few moments, allowing the boy to bask in his screwed-up expression, before turning half-assed exasperation on the blonde.

He couldn't bring himself to be truly put-off, after a night like that.

"What in the _world_ possessed the two of you to go out to a bar with an early-morning flight the next morning?"

"Well, we both kind of wanted to celebrate, and Basch said he'd be there, so I thought 'Why not?'"

"Mm. Some chaperone."

"Aw, don't be like that. He trusts you."

Both eyebrows shot up this time.

"And he was gonna introduce us anyway," He continued, thumb rubbing lazy circles against Balthier's hip bone, "Next semester."

"Next semester. You're in one of my classes next semester."

Balthier prepared to engage in a much worse migraine than he had expected, but Vaan shook his head, "I'm a _psych and education _major. Basch said you needed a male model."

_Huh. _

"He did, did he?"

"_Mmhm._" The first in a series of slow kisses began just above a light brown nipple.

"And you need the work?" A slender hand laced in soft blonde locks, massaging the scalp as the trail continued upward.

"I'll need to buy Penelo a new pair of jeans, at least."

"I'll admit you're an admirable subject."

He felt more than saw a smile pressing against his adam's apple. "Flexible, too."

"I noticed."

"So how about it, Professor?" The boy hovered above his lips, locking them eye to eye somewhere between vulnerability and the first spark of something absolutely _intriguing_. The air between them was warm, "Wanna see me naked?"

"We'll see where the morning takes us."

Balthier grinned wickedly before pulling him the rest of the way down.

x

* * *

x

**Omake:**

Back in sunny Rabanastre, a particularly giggly pigtailed blonde whistled down at the response lighting up the screen of her mobile.

A picture of a certain haughty, hot-bodied teacher sleeping like an angel baby.

_Greetings from wherever the hell I am. I don't know and I don't care. –Vaan _

All in all, it seemed like it had been a good night.

When she'd told her mother just why the other handful had missed the early morning flight, Aelme just shook her head and smiled.

Her fingers twitched, muscle memory reminding her that she should be holding a cigarette.

x

* * *

x

**A/N** : Pardon any strange errors. This was written in a fly-by-the-seat-of-my-pants procratination situation.

The song that Vaan references in the first section is "Starstrukk" by 3Oh!3. What in the _world_ is the onomatopoeia for a wolf whistle, anyway. Typing 'wee-wooh' made me feel like a moron. D:

Aaaanyway, this is what happens when I _should_ be typing my belated final exam paper for Film and Lit Adaptation. But hey, at least I'm finally in my new apartment. I'm living under boxes, but at least they're all here. -.-

Just in time to leave for Italy on the 31st.

For those of you who're waiting for updates to "Money, Honey", I'm working on it. Trying to come up with a plot better than the wonky one I had before. Realized it's a good idea to do the plot first and _then_ the soundtrack, instead of planning the thing around a few tracks. Oo

I'm liking this universe, too. X)


End file.
